


Keep Your Friends Close

by verity



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Multi, Rough Trade, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike, Ripper, Ethan, voyeurism, exhibitionism, public sex, 1970s England. Yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Friends Close

**Author's Note:**

> Angearia and I have been debating whether there is anyone (on BtVS/AtS) who would not go gay for Spike. The answer, thus far, is no. This fic is the result of our realization that punk!Spike/Ripper/Ethan is our shared slash OT3.

Ethan kisses like the girls Ripper practiced on; fierce at first, then softer and softer, their mouths yielding and guileless beneath him. He likes to watch Ethan, these the only times that his sly face relaxes, naked in desire.

That's Ripper's thing, has always been: he likes to watch.

Ethan's pliant now, beneath the hands of the vampire pinning him against the alley wall; one of those who like a little rough trade with their meal. Ripper can't blame them. He likes it too much himself; his breath comes fast and short as Ethan braces himself against the brick.

But this vampire is ready when Ripper comes at him with the stake, and pushes him aside with little effort. "I see how it is," he says, and shakes his head; his features slide back into their sharp human planes. "Naughty boys, out to spoil my fun."

Ripper tries again, but the vampire has him pinned. He's all eyeliner and messy bleached hair, thinks he's a sharp one. He presses up against Ripper, smiles, then bends his head down to whisper, "Risky. I like that."

The streetlamp at the end of the alley flickers, and when the light returns, he and Ethan are alone. Ethan's pants are still pooled around his ankles; he makes no attempt to hide his nudity, just blinks in the renewed light. His left hand is clamped over the bite on his neck, a thin trickle of blood running through his fingers. "Rupert?"

Ripper takes him there, presses him up against the wall. It's perverse, to take him this way, to see him without his face, to get off on the double vision of himself fucking Ethan, and another, dispersed; oh, and it's the best way. The adrenaline, the delayed consummation, the heady flush of victory and danger and desire. Maybe their narrow and strange escape should have instilled some caution, but it's only inflamed his arousal. He thrusts harder, and Ethan moans; shuddering, electric, _alive_.

A voice, then, from the end of the alley: "Nice show." And a laugh. "Be seeing you."


End file.
